


Combination of Affectionate Nouns

by formalizing



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blasphemy, Crack, Drunk Dean, Embarrassed Sam, Established But Undefined Relationship, Established Relationship, God Damned Miracles, Jealous Sam, M/M, Nipple Play, Nipples, Overcoming Whisky Dick, Pet Names, Sam Winchester's Bitchface, Shady Bartending Practices, Sibling Incest, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 09:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5662024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/formalizing/pseuds/formalizing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam tries not to feel too ridiculous for hating someone he only knows by her absurd pet name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Combination of Affectionate Nouns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rei_c](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/gifts).



> Please don't make me explain it. It's for her birthday and it makes sense to us.

“That him?” the bartender says with a knowing smirk and a tilt of her head as Sam approaches with a frown firmly set on his face.

Dean starts to turn on the stool, has to plant a hand on the bar just to stop himself from tipping over. Instead he swings his lazy gaze over to look before he mutters, “Yep, there's the ol’ ball an’ chain.”

It takes some time to get Dean off the stool and standing reasonably upright on his own, close out his (sizeable) tab, and pour him into the passenger seat of the car, but they manage. Sam snorts as he slides into the driver’s side and looks over to see that Dean is practically passed out where he sits, chin to his chest and his phone about ready to slip out of the loose, two-fingered grip he’s got on it.

Dean’s phone is blinking green insistently as Sam plucks it from his hand, so he hits the side button just to make it stop. The notification on the lock screen says Dean has a missed call from ‘Kittentits’, which really shouldn’t surprise Sam, but kind of does anyway.

They’re nearly back to the motel before Dean slumps far enough over that his head hits the window and wakes him up with a start.

“Should’a prob’ly not gone round for round with the bartender,” he grumbles, rubbing at his head and slurring his vowels. “Pretty sure she’s pourin’ herself blanks.”

“Did you get her number?” Sam asks, falsely casual, and Dean frowns.

“Why’d I need her number for? If I wanna get drunk under the table, I can just let you try.”

Sam snorts, says, “You sure? She was pretty good-looking. You could put her in your phone with some demeaning contact name, right next to Kittentits.”

He expects that, even this drunk, Dean will realize what’s happening and try to explain himself. Because they’ve been quietly doing—whatever this is between them that regularly leads to fucking, for a little under a year, now. And he’s been waiting to see if Dean wants to make a serious go of it, however that might work, or if he’s just never going to be the type of guy who can be happy with one person, even if that person’s Sam. So he needs to know if this is how Dean tells him he’s done with whatever incestuous experiment they’ve been conducting, because Sam’s not altogether sure he can take that at this point.

What he doesn’t expect is for Dean to just laugh and mumble, “Yeah, Kittentits is somethin’ special.”

Sam grips the wheel tighter and tells himself that it can’t hurt if he knew it was coming.

“You want her number so you can call her back now, or would you rather wait and call her in private?” Sam’s not bitter at all.

Dean grins stupidly over at him as he says, “Nah, I’ve got that number right here,” tapping the side of his unthinkably thick skull.

And that actually _does_ hurt a bit, because Dean is terrible with phone numbers, can barely remember his own and Sam’s without having to check. If he has hers memorized, she’s meant something to him for a while now.

Sam tries not to feel too ridiculous for hating someone he only knows by her absurd pet name.

Dean grabs his phone and clumsily tries to unlock it a few times, eventually gets frustrated and hands it over to Sam with an impatient flap of his hand that wordlessly asks him to do it for him once they pull up to the motel. And as Sam enters the passcode, wondering to himself whether or not they have the funds to get another room just so he doesn’t have to sleep beside Dean tonight, Dean leans over the seat with that shit-eating grin and opens the call log.

Kittentits has apparently called him numerous times tonight, the last right before Sam left to go and fetch Dean from the bar, and her number is—

“Why the hell do you have me in your phone as Kittentits, Dean?”

Sam’s blushing a bit as he says it, a combination of shame at being caught-out in his own jealousy, embarrassment at the realization that the bartender purring at him when she told them to have a good night suddenly makes so much more sense, and just. Kittentits. He’s in Dean’s phone as _Kittentits_.

“‘Cause you got the cutest little nothin’-tits, Sammy, and I’d suck on ‘em all night if you’d let me.”

Dean’s got one hand bracing himself on the back of the headrest so he can reach over and work the other under Sam’s layers, tiptoe up and run cold fingers over his chest. Sam’s nipples obligingly harden to little points at his touch, and Dean curls his tongue over his lower lip with a happy sigh as he rolls one between his fingertips.

“ _There_ they are,” he drawls, smirking in the face of Sam’s—very unconvincing, since his cock is already trying to make its interest known—glare. “So, what say we go inside and I give ‘em some attention like I like?”

“If you can even get hard long enough to fuck me, it’ll be a god damned miracle, Dean.”

Dean laughs as he slides across the seat and drags himself out of the car, using a combination of a heavy grip on the door and every ounce of concentration he has to get the job done.

“Don’t tempt the lord, Kittentits,” he calls out over his shoulder as he beats a crooked path to what is hopefully their door, loud enough that it echoes through the parking lot and the few people still outside of their rooms at this hour are looking over. Dean shrugs carelessly out of his jacket and lets it drop to the ground for Sam, who is dragging a hand down his face with a long-suffering sigh as he tries to hurry him along inside where no one else can see or hear him, to pick up. He’s close enough that, when Dean tugs his shirt up over his belt with a cock-sure grin, Sam can see there’s definitely a bulge starting in his jeans. “He works in mysterious ways.”

And lo and behold, there was a god damned miracle that night.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [this comic](http://www.asofterworld.com/index.php?id=152) from A Softer World. Not the original inspiration for the fic (still not explaining it), but found later and too perfect.


End file.
